felt my thoughts floating off
upon the hum of the room--I lay with my fingers gripping Mary's arm.
Then I roused myself. Time had passed; or had it? I was not sure.

I whispered against her ear, "Those are controls on its chest. If only
I knew--"

The thing turned the red beams of its eyes upon me. Had it heard my
words? Or were my thoughts intangible vibrations registering upon some
infinitely sensitive mechanism within that metal head? Had it become
aware of my thoughts? It said with slow measured syllables, "Do not
try to control me. I am beyond control."

* * * * *

It turned away again; but I mastered the gruesome terror which was
upon me.

"Talk," I said. "Tell me why you abducted this girl from the year
1777."

"I was ordered to."

"By whom?"

There was a pause.

"By whom?" I demanded again.

"That I will not tell."

Will not? That implied volition. I felt that Mary shuddered.

"George, please--"

"Quiet, Mary."

Again I asked the Robot, "Who commands you?"

"I will not tell."

"You mean you cannot? Your orders do not make it possible?"

"No, I will not." And, as though it considered my understanding
insufficient, it added, "I do not choose to tell."

Acting of its own volition! This thing--this machinery--was so perfect
it could do that!

I steadied my voice. "Oh, but I think I know. Is it Tugh who controls
you?"

That expressionless metal face! How could I hope to surprise it?

Mary was struggling to repress her terror. She raised herself upon an
elbow. I met her gaze.

"George, I'll try," she announced.

She said firmly:

"You will not hurt me?"

"No."

"Nor my friend here?"

"What is his name?"

"George Rankin." She stammered it. "You will not harm him?"

"No. Not now."

"Ever?"

"I am not decided."

She persisted, by what effort of will subduing her terror I can well
imagine.

"Where did you go when you left me in 1935?"

"Back to your home in 1777. I have something to accomplish there. I
was told that you need not see it. I failed. Soon I shall try again.
You may see it if you like."

"Where are you taking us?" I put in.

Irony was in its answer. "Nowhere. You both speak wrongly. We are
always right here."

"We know that," I retorted. "To what Time are you taking us, then?"

"To this girl's home," it answered readily.

"To 1777?"

"Yes."

"To the same night from when you captured her?"

"Yes." It seemed willing t